


For a good cause

by sherlockcrush



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, PWP, Sibling Incest, Threesome - M/M/M, Unlikely happenings but it was fun to write, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 04:32:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockcrush/pseuds/sherlockcrush
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John volunteers himself for a charity auction. He doesn't realize that the Holmes brothers will be in the audience. Who will place the highest bid? As Mycroft points out to his younger brother, Sherlock hasn't exactly laid claim to John Watson. So Mycroft placing a big shouldn't pose a problem, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s note:  
> This was inspired by a post in the BBC Sherlock kinkmeme (http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/21231.html?page=33#comments) : There is a charity and a dinner with John Watson is the main prize. Sherlock finds the whole thing pretty disturbing because John is HIS. Mycroft finally knows what he's going to do with all his money.
> 
> The charity mentioned here, Barts and the London Charity is real, and their web site is here:  
> http://www.bartsandthelondoncharity.org.uk/Page/About

Sherlock growls. Actually grows like an animal. And Sherlock Holmes never gives in to his baser animal instincts. He has worked very hard to distance himself from these pesky natural instincts, these coarse emotions. But even Sherlock Holmes has…limits.

Just what does John think he is doing?

“Delightful. So very tempting, isn’t he?” Mycroft says, his breath tickling Sherlock’s left ear as he leans close to whisper.

“You knew he would be up there,” Sherlock says. “That’s why you invited me to this gauche event. But why? What would you gain from showing this to me, Mycroft?” Sherlock turns away from the stage to glare at his elder brother. 

Mycroft looks calm and suave as usual, pale fingers wrapped around a martini glass. He takes a sip, eyes meeting his brother’s glare. He smirks.

“Thank you – thank you ladies and gentlemen for your generous donations. Barts and the London Charity certainly appreciate your funds.” The MC smiles broadly at the well-dressed crowd sitting at tables bedecked with champagne and flowers. “ Just a reminder, we don’t want to know what you do with them later, as long as it’s consensual! Just return your volunteer in good condition tomorrow. And remember it’s all for charity!” The crowd laughs with him as he winks good naturedly at an 80 year old woman sitting in the front row.

A waiter refills Sherlock’s glass and he sits back, rhythmically tapping his finger on the table. If Mycroft notices, he doesn’t say. John. His John. Is standing two down the line. Sherlock has always been invited to the annual event, but has never shown up. But how could he ignore an unanticipated invitation from Mycroft? And now he’s glaring up the stage where a line of various people associated with St. Barts who are volunteering their time – no, their humiliation – to raise money for the institution.

And John’s moment to be auctioned off to whatever moronic trophy wife who pays enough is almost here. “£1,500! And what do you plan to do with Dr. Jones, may I ask young lady?” The MC leaps off the stage and thrusts the microphone into the face of a woman in her early twenties. 

“He’s going to help me with my biochemistry final paper,” she says with a laugh. 

“Ooohh, help you with biology is it? Well, you’ll be getting top marks for sure!”

The crowd laughs again and the girl has the decency to blush.

“Now, this next volunteer is a special one.” The crowd hushes as John steps forward. He’s wearing a black tuxedo and smiles a bit shyly at the audience. “May I present to you Dr. John Watson. This is no ordinary doctor, ladies and gentlemen, this doctor was, not long ago, a Captain in the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. That’s right, ladies, you’re looking the genuine article – handsome, and he works well under pressure, and might I add that as a doctor, ladies, I’m sure he’s talented with his hands. As usual, you have 5 minutes to place the first bids.” The MC grins at the resulting twitter of laughter.

Sherlock frowns. This man is selling off His John like a piece of good looking meat. Up for the highest bidder. How vulgar. Besides, this ridiculous announcer doesn’t know the first thing about what makes John Watson so amazing and interesting. He doesn’t know anything about how John always manages to ask the question that helps Sherlock make the final deductions. He doesn’t know how John learned to merely smile and shake his head at the body parts Sherlock sets up as experiments in the fridge. He doesn’t know that John once shot a man to save Sherlock’s life.

Around the room, at least a dozen people are typing their initial bids into the tablets provided by the auction organizers. He glances down at the tablet sitting next to him on the table.

“I would have thought that you would jump at the chance, brother.”

Sherlock manages to not glare at Mycroft. “You know I would not participate in this ridiculous event.”

“Not even to save John? How interesting.” Sherlock rolls his eyes. “Well, if you won’t be bidding on John, then I’m sure you won’t mind if I do?” Sherlock watches out of the corner of his eye as Mycroft’s long fingers begin tapping on his tablet. 

“You’re bidding on John?” Sherlock asks, looking sharply at his brother.

“Well, since you are not interested, I assume that it won’t be a problem?”

Sherlock flicks his blue eyes to where John is answering some ridiculous question that the MC has just asked about his favorite program on the telly. Utterly ridiculous. On Sherlock really knows John. These people have never seen how John can just jump into a situation, willing to help a friend in need. Even Mycroft has never seen John wander into the kitchen first thing in the morning, hair ruffled, feet bare as he makes tea. John. Is. His.

“Why do you think I’m not interested?” Sherlock says, quickly typing in a number and hitting the submit key. Mycroft smiles and sits back. 

“Alright ladies and gentlemen, let’s see the initial bids for our handsome military man. Ohhhh, £2,000! Looks like you’re going to be popular tonight, Dr. Watson! Shall we see if we can that a bit higher, hmm?”

“Why would you even want to bid on John? You practically kidnap him weekly to spy on me anyway,” Sherlock mutters. 

“Perhaps I’d like to have him at my disposal for longer than a cup of coffee. Perhaps I enjoy his conversation,” Mycroft says as he picks up his tablet for the second round of bidding.

“What on earth would you talk about?” Sherlock asks, turning towards his brother.

“My dear Sherlock, who said anything about talking?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrow. “What are you playing at, Mycroft?”

“Playing? You above all people should know I don’t play,” Mycroft says calmly.

“You invite me here and then waive John in my face. And now you’re bidding on him. How predictable,” he spits.

“Predictable? How so? Is the idea that I’d like to spend time with John so incomprehensible to you?” 

Sherlock leans in, lips just barely touching his brother’s ear. “Back off, brother. He’s mine.”

“May I reminder you that you have no claim on him, Sherlock. However, if you would like to discuss this further, I may have a solution.” His eyes flick up to where John is flushing as he answers that, yes, he is single. 

Mycroft smirks at his younger brother and raises an eyebrow in a questioning challenge. Sherlock glares but nods once and hits the submit key. Mycroft sits back and smiles.

\--  
John sighs and arranges his bow tie again. He taps his finger nervously on the plush leather seat of the limousine. He’d been bought by some old lady with lots of money who chattered away endlessly next to him. Her name is Annabelle. She has three prize poodles who appear to take up most of her waking hours. He sincerely hopes she isn’t going to make a pass at him, but she keep patting John’s knee soothingly in a manner that reminds him of his granny. Perhaps she only wants to discuss her arthritis and have some tea. John can only hope.

The car is now outside of London. It turns into a gated driveway and slowly pulls to a stop in front of a large manor house. He helps Annabelle out of the car and up the stone steps. 

“Now my dear boy, thank you so much. I just can’t seem to jump up stairs as easily as I used to…” Annabelle leads John to a comfortable sitting room off the main hall. There’s a fire in the fireplace and what looks like a very expensive bottle of brandy with sifters. John frowns. Do little old ladies drink brandy? “Now, make yourself comfortable. That’s a nice young man.” She wanders out of the room and closes the heavy door behind her.

John sits with a sigh and stares at the fire. Why did he agree to subject himself to this again? Oh yes. For charity.

Crap. Does anyone even know where he is? For all he knows, nice Annabelle enjoys hacking up younger men in her manor basement. He had mentioned to Sherlock that he was volunteering for the charity gala, but he doubt it had registered in his flatmate’s mind. Hell, Sherlock has probably deleted the information as irrelevant. John runs a hand through his hair and sighs again.

“Come now, John. I’m sure the situation is not so hopeless.”

John jumps up and spins around, reflexes kicking in. “Mycroft?” he asks dubiously as the elder Holmes brother closes the door as quietly as he had opened it. 

“A surprise, I’m sure.” Mycroft closes the door and walks to the table. He pours two sifters of brandy and hands one to John and leans casually against the table. “I apologize for the deception, John. I certainly can’t be seen bidding on my brother’s flatmate, regardless of the motivations. You understand.” He gives him a smile that John is sure has smoothed over many political negotiations over the years.

“So, um, how….?” John gestures in the direction that Annabelle disappeared, twisting his wrist, palm up.

“Ah. Annabelle is an old family friend. A friend of Mummy’s actually. I told her that you had been, well, strong armed into volunteering and that I was…concerned. She was happy to give a large – a very large – sum of money to the hospital. Though we did compensate her for half. It seemed only fair at the time.” Mycroft smiles as if this is a normal description of a business transaction.

“Ah. Erm, thank you?” John says, rubbing the back of his head. Mycroft chuckles to himself and sits on the love seat next to him, legs crossed casually as he sips the brandy watches John. John feels like he must have fallen down the rabbit hole and bumped his head. Finally he settles on one question. “We?”

The smile that Mycroft gives him makes the hair on the back of John’s neck stand on end. 

“I couldn’t very well interfere with the charity gala and bid on you without Sherlock’s knowledge. He is my brother.”

“Oh.” John sits back, perplexed, brandy in hand. “I told Sherlock about tonight weeks ago. I didn’t think it even registered in his mind.”

“It didn’t. Until I invited him to join me, that is. We are both invited every year, actually, and I usually make an effort to attend. But then I saw your name on the list of volunteers, and I thought Sherlock wouldn’t possibly want to miss the…opportunity.”

“Ah. Well, thank you for saving me then.” John holds his brandy glass up in a silent toast. 

Mycroft nods and smiles. He holds his glass up and watches the firelight dance through the amber liquid.

“So. Is Annabelle coming back?” John asks.

“Hmm? Oh, no, I had my driver take her home,” Mycroft says dismissively.

“Home? Then where are we now?”

“Oh, I apologize. Of course you thought you were in her home. No, this is a Holmes estate.”

“Ahh.” John looks around the room again, taking in the details anew. “Your home is very nice. I thought you had a place in London?”

“Thank you, John. I do have a flat in Mayfair. It’s closer to the office, but this has always been a retreat from the city. I do hope you’ll be comfortable during your stay here.” 

“Stay?” 

“Of course. It’s late. Besides, we did effectively buy your charity volunteer contract from Annabelle, thereby making you ours for the night.” He smiles at John. 

John smiles nervously. It feels like a trap is closing in but he can’t really see its edges. “Well,” he says, taking a sip, “I’m sure I can find a guest room or three to use.”

Brandy glass in one hand, Mycroft runs the finger tips of the other hand across John’s thigh. “Oh John. What kind of host would I be to let you sleep alone?” 

John gapes at him and then flushes, his eyes slipping down Mycroft’s chest. He finds a sudden interest in the delicate brocade pattern on Mycroft’s waistcoat. He notices that Mycroft has removed his jacket and tie, and that the top two buttons are undone. John rips his eyes away from the peak of pale skin.

“Ahh, you flush so prettily, John.” Mycroft leans towards him very slowly and whispers, “I’d like to know if your skin flushes anywhere else. Hmm?”

“Wait! Wait wait wait. What is this?” John ask, pulling away from him. “Two hours ago I was volunteering to raise money for St. Bart’s, and –“

“And you did, John. Quite a bit, too.”

“And now I’m here and you’ve suddenly decided to show off your seduction skills?”

“Well, what can I say? I must admit that the question of your sexuality remained a bit of a mystery for quite some time. And then this opportunity presented itself." 

“What, I let slip that I’ve gone out with men from time to time and you see an opening and take it?” John sputters somewhat indignantly.

“Well, in a word, yes.” Mycroft raises his eyebrows in a silent question. 

John can’t help it. He looks at Mycroft’s mouth. He swallows and when he raises his eyes, the other man leans forward and gently kisses him.

John is surprised that the touch is so hesitant, for a Holmes. He pushes forwards just a bit, increasing the pressure, and they begin to kiss in earnest. John blindly puts his brandy glass on the table and grasps Mycroft’s thigh. He leans back just a bit and then he has half a lap of Mycroft. They pull apart, breathing heavily. 

“Might I suggest that we take this to my bedroom,” Mycroft says, to which John nods in reply. 

Mycroft leads him upstairs and down a long hallway covered in gilded artwork. He opens a door and steps aside to let John in ahead of him. The room is somewhat less ornate than John had expected. It feels… comfortable. 

There’s a fireplace in this room, which is already blazing. And a bed. A very big bed. John decides to skip the bed for a moment and sits on a loveseat near the fire.

“Very nice,” he says, breaking the silence. 

Mycroft silently closes the door and sits next to him. “Thank you.” He runs a hand tentatively over John’s leg and then leans in for a kiss.

John slowly leans back, bringing the other man with him until Mycroft is half atop him, pressing down into him deliciously. The way that Mycroft silently teases his way into John’s mouth make John think that he’d like to entangle himself in negotiations with this man more often.

“What should we tell Sherlock?” John mutters as Myrcoft kisses his jaw line.

“Irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant? I live with him. He'll notice."

“Yes, but I don’t think that telling him anything will be necessary.”

“Why not?” 

“Because I can observe so much more from here.” The deep voice is nearly a purr.

John twists around quickly at the smooth deep voice. “Sherlock?”


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock leans against the door, crosses his arms, and looks down at John. He gives him a slow, lascivious smile. "I do hope my brother has been a good host," he says as he closes bedroom door.   
John glances sideways at Mycroft, who is resting one arm casually along the back of the love seat and contemplatively staring at the firelight . 

"Ah, erm, yes. He has...um…Mycroft says that you were at the charity auction, too? Why didn't you tell me you were planning to go?"

"Well, I wasn't really planning to attend. It's such a boring concept, don't you think? Still, I found tonight surprisingly enjoyable.” He smirks, intently watching John squirm a bit under such scrutiny.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft says slowly, as if reminding him of something. The brothers lock eyes, and John has the distinct impression that he’s being talked about. His eyes flick back and for between them.

Finally Mycroft sits back and turns to John. He runs his hand up John’s thigh again. “John, Sherlock and I…well, we came to something of a decision. About you.” John opens his mouth to protest. “Well, really I should say that I made Sherlock make a decision.” He smiles. “Sherlock was, shall we say, surprised to find that he felt a bit jealous at the idea of you being auctioned off. I had hoped that he would take the initiative and bid on you himself, but be that as it may, I placed a bid on you. I hope you don’t mind,” he says, squeezing John’s inner thigh perilously close to the bulge in his trousers. “So we came to a decision to share you.”

John opens his mouth again and gapes for a moment. “What do you mean share me?!” he asks indignantly.

“It seemed only fair, considering we did combine our financial resources to ensure that no one else got their hands on you.” John cranes his head up to where Sherlock is speaking, standing right behind him. Sherlock gently, if possessively, rubs his hand down John’s bared neck. 

John now has both Holmes brothers touching him, seeking to claim him. He swallows, nerves and arousal making him jittery.

“Besides, this is so much more…interesting, don’t you think?” Sherlock purrs before he leans down and claims John’s lips in a rough kiss.

John arches up into the kiss. If he’s true to himself, he has been wanting this particular kiss for a very long time. Possibly since he and Sherlock first met. He reaches up caresses the other man’s neck, and nearly yelps in surprise when a hand cups his crotch over his slacks. 

Mycroft smirks and leans down to mouth John’s neck, which is temptingly stretched out beside him, and he gently palms John’s cock through his slacks. He’s pleased to find it hard and hot through the layers of fabric.

As Sherlock plunders John’s mouth, Mycroft unbuttons his shirt to reveal his toned chest. He smiles and leans down to place soft kisses along John’s collarbone and then down, down the pale chest to the faint trail of hair leading down and disappearing beneath black slacks.

At this, John wrenches his mouth from Sherlock’s and looks at Mycroft with wide eyes, who smiles pleasantly and slowly undoes the zipper. The sound of the zipper pushes through the silence in the room and John knows that, if he cared to look, he would find two pairs of blue eyes staring intently at the spot where his boxer-briefs were just visible.

The brothers briefly make eyes contact over their prize, and, as if practiced, they go to work on removing Doctor John Watson of his clothes. Sherlock is surprisingly gentle as he pushes John forward and helps him off with his shirt, and jacket. At the same time, Mycroft kneels in front of him and takes off John’s shoes, socks, and then gently eases up his hips so that he can slide the trousers down and off. 

John resists the urge to cross his arms or legs. After his time in the military, he’s used to being undressed in front of other men, but as he takes in Mycroft’s hungry look, he’s never felt so naked before. 

“So beautiful,” Sherlock murmurs in his ear as he leans down to kiss at John’s neck. 

“No – I’m not-”

“Hush,” Mycroft says, perching elegantly on the couch next to him. “Sherlock and I both believe that you are beautiful, so beautiful you are.” 

Sherlock chuckles softly, continuing his worship of John’s neck and collar bone. “My brother doesn’t lie – in this case, at least.”

“Now Sherlock, play nice,” Mycroft chides evenly.

In response, Sherlock bites down softly, eliciting a soft grunt from John. John reaches up and tangles his fingers in Sherlock’s dark curls and pulls him up for a hungry kiss.

When they pull apart, breathing faster, Mycroft sits next to John and cups his chin, holding him still as he whispers, “My turn,” before leaning in to claim his lips. 

Where Sherlock’s kiss is hungry and intense, Mycroft’s is calculated and precise, and John feels as if he’s being taken apart carefully and examined, piece by piece.

Still wrapped up with Mycroft, he doesn’t need to look down to know that the hands gently easing his legs apart are Sherlock’s. Sherlock kneels between his spread legs, hungrily intent on the large bulge in John’s boxer briefs. There’s also a small wet spot that begs to be tasted. He leans down and mouths John’s cock through the thin fabric, causing him to whimper into Mycroft’s mouth. 

John’s wrenches his mouth away and watches, eyes wide, as Sherlock licks and sucks at him. It’s possibly one of the most erotic things he’s ever seen.

“He has quite the talented mouth, doesn’t he?” Mycroft says. 

Smirking, Sherlock locks eyes with John and slowly eases the boxer briefs down, leaving him naked and bare before the Holmes brothers, who are still fully clothed. John blushes even as his cock jerks at the thought. As flatmates, he and Sherlock have seen each other undressed before. But never completely naked, and he suddenly wonders if Sherlock likes what he sees. 

There’s some pre-cum on the tip of John’s cock, and Sherlock swipes his finger over it. He sucks the finger tip between his lips. 

“Fuck,” John murmurs.

“Not quite yet,” Sherlock replies with a smile as he takes just the tip John’s cock between his lips. He lets it slip out. “But I am glad to hear that you’re open to the possibility.”

“At this point, you think I’m not?”

Mycroft chuckles softly. He unzips his crisp slacks and silently guides one of John’s hands to the opening. John gasps when he feels the hard cock pushing through the opening. The idea that Mycroft Holmes goes commando is probably going to ruin his image of the stiff politician forever. His fingers curl around the shaft and he starts to rub, eyes pinned to where his own cock is disappearing between Sherlock’s lips.

Sherlock watches the surprise on John’s face at the revelation and grins around the lovely penis in his mouth. He’d walked in on Mycroft enough times over the years growing up to be familiar with that particular idiosyncrasy. He closes his eyes and focuses on the cock, John’s cock, that’s in his mouth. If he’s true to himself, he’s wanted to do this for a very long time. He presses his tongue against the tip and watches John’s eyes close with pleasure.

“Sherl-ohhhh.”

After a minute, Sherlock pulls off and sits back on his haunches with a self-satisfied look on his face. “Was it enjoyable?” he asks, voice deep.

“Enjoyable? Are you kidding me?” John asks. He reaches for his still-hard cock and is stopped by Mycroft.

“Now John, we wouldn’t be taking care of you properly if we allowed you to finish yourself, hmm?” Mycroft leans closer. “Sherlock and I intend to take care of you…completely.”

John shivers at the words, at their sensuous promise. John presses his lips to Mycroft’s, asking for more. Asking for everything.

As they kiss, Sherlock stands and begins to undress, intently watching them. He carelessly lets his bespoke tuxedo fall to the floor and idly palms his hard shaft. 

When the men on the couch break apart, Mycroft says, “Goal orientated as usual, Sherlock.”

“Clearly we must be unclothed for this to proceed.”

The older Holmes brother smiles and stands up. “Then I suppose I should follow suit.”

John suddenly finds himself with a lap full of Sherlock. Long lithe legs settle outside of John’s thighs as Sherlock straddles his lap. Their cocks touch and Sherlock whimpers softly, resting his forehead against John’s. John doesn’t think he’s heard Sherlock whimper, ever. He gently presses his lips against the tempting neck and mouths the skin. 

Across the room, Mycroft is methodically removing his clothing, piece by piece, slowly baring his pale skin. He carefully lays the clothes on a chair and approaches the pair on the loveseat. 

John wraps his fingers around both of their cocks, forcing them together. 

“Yessss,” Sherlock hisses. He jerks his hips, creating friction between them. His fingers dig into the back of the loveseat as he grinds against the man beneath him. 

Mycroft places a bottle of lube on the side table next to the loveseat and sits down, one knee bent. He lazily rubs his cock, watching them rut against each other hungrily. He allows them a minute more before his own needs become too great. “You’re not sharing, brother,” he says softly.

Sherlock pulls away and glares at him. “And you’re interrupting.” But he still climbs off and gestures politely with his hand, as if allowing Mycroft to go ahead of him.

Smiling predatorily, Mycroft pulls John closer to him, spreading his legs around him. Long talented fingers explore between John’s legs. Mycroft presses a finger at the hidden back entrance to John’s body, gentle but insistent that he be allowed entrance.

Sherlock kneels next to his prone flatmate and runs his fingers teasingly over the muscled chest, alternatively light and heavy and pinching and gentle, learning and mapping every response. He smiles when John arches up when Sherlock presses a nail into a tight nipple.

John looks up at the two beautiful men and vaguely wonders if he agreed to bottom, but then two fingers slick with lube press into him, and he hisses in pleasure.

“It-it’s been a while,” John pants. “Take it easy, ok?”

Mycroft smiles. “But of course. We wouldn’t hurt our prize.”

John is about to protest being called a prize, something bid on and won, when Sherlock claims his mouth again as a distraction. Mycroft slowly opens up John’s body in preparation to be taken. He presses his determinedly pushes his long fingers inside, practicing restraint, while Sherlock swallows John’s whimpers.

Suddenly, John finds himself alone as the Holmes brothers rearrange them like some sort of pre-planned ballet. Sherlock prowls behind the loveseat as Mycroft gently arranges John on his knees facing the back and Sherlock. John’s knees sink into the plush cushions and he cranes his neck to look up at Sherlock, who runs a hand through John’s hair in a surprisingly tender caress.

Mycroft runs his hands up John’s thighs and spreads them further, leaving John open for him. He slicks up his cock and presses the tips against John’s open hole.

“Are you ready, John?”

“Fuck yes,” John says breathily.

“Aren’t we eager?” Sherlock mutters and watches John’s face as Mycroft push inside. He decides that John’s face while being taken is one of the most arousing things he’s ever seen. He runs his thumbs over John’s jaw line and helps his mouth open. John moans and willingly opens wider as Sherlock pushes his shaft inside.

John closes his eyes. He’s overwhelmed by sensation, by the feeling of being stretched and filled and used and taken and claimed and as he glances up at Sherlock’s face, he realizes cherished, too.

Mycroft’s long fingers grab John’s hips as he sets up a strong pace, allowing himself to let go and give into his baser instincts to rut like an animal. As he pushes in and out, reveling in the tightness of John’s passage, he knows his hands are probably forms bruises on his hips, but he simply doesn’t care. Watching his brother losing control and being sucked off is too arousing to last long, but he keeps going, willing himself to keep his open and on the beautiful sight before him.

“You’re so amazing,” Sherlock says, caressing John’s face and hair even as he fucks him.

Caught up in the feeling of being fucked hard, John lets the two men take what they want from him. He holds tightly onto the back of the loveseat and keeps his legs spread as wide as his mouth.

It takes a few minutes, but the two brothers setup a rhythm of pushing back and forth, back and forth, sharing him between them. Still holding on with one hand, John grasps one of Sherlock’s achingly tempting ass cheeks in his hand. He squeezes hard and is rewarded by a particularly strong thrust into his mouth. Sherlock fights the urge to grab John’s head and slam into him repeatedly. 

“John! I’m going to – ohhhh –I’m going to cum inside of you,” Mycroft grinds.

In response, John pushes back against the older Holmes brother and clamps down. That’s all it takes. Mycroft cries out and cums hard, shuddering in John’s willing body. The sights of this sets Sherlock off. He pushes into John’s mouth hard and cums, shooting down his throat. 

Panting, Sherlock and Mycroft pull out with soft wet sounds, leaving John to collapse on the loveseat. His cock is hard and leaking. He closes his eyes and groans. Strong arms wrap around him and he’s carried to the bed and laid down gently on the soft expanse of sheets.

Then John is surrounded by skin as the other two men lie on either side of him. 

“Ohhhhh,” John groans when Mycroft begins to rub his still-hard shaft.

“Now,” Sherlock says, voice deep and purring, “You get to choose what comes next. What do you want? Or maybe the better question is who do you want, hmm?”

John moves restlessly on the bed, hard and aching, and he’s fairly sure he can feel cum dribbling out of his stretched hole. He arches up into Mycroft’s hand, seeking the fastest route to pleasure. Sherlock props himself on his elbow, idly caressing John’s face and neck, and John reaches for him. 

Maybe it’s a choice. Maybe it isn’t. But Sherlock moves, sinuously straddling John’s waist. John looks up at him with glazed eyes, darkened by lust.

“Sherlock,” John breathes, “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Sherlock murmurs. 

Sherlock reaches back and pushes a couple of slick fingers into himself, breath hitching as John’s hand joins his and eases the fingers in deeper. John guides Sherlock’s hand, helping him open himself up slowly. He lies back, watching in awe as Sherlock’s face twists in pleasure. 

And then Sherlock kneels up and slowly sits down, letting John’s shaft push inside and fill him. When he bottoms out, they let out a breath, a breath that’s been held in for a very long time.

In awe, John runs his hands over Sherlock’s splayed thighs. “Whenever you’re ready,” he says.

Sherlock’s body is hot and tight and so welcoming, as he sinks down. John fights the urge to move. Especially when Sherlock wiggles his hips a bit, just. Like. That. 

“Fuck you’re tight,” John moans. He jerks his hips up.

They both groan. John grasps Sherlock’s hips with strong hands and starts to guide him. Together they set up a brutally face pace, the bed squeaking softly with the rhythm. With his hands busy, John watches from beneath hooded eyes as Sherlock rubs his cock in time. 

And then Sherlock groans. His arse clenches down, hard, around John’s cock as he cums. This sends John over the edge, fast and hard.

Panting, Sherlock leans down, forehead resting against John’s. For one long moment, they lie there, breathing heavily, sweat on their bare skin. After everything, this moment is oddly the most intimate, and John silently runs his thumb over Sherlock’s cheek.

“And you say I’m beautiful?” John says with a soft chuckle.

Sherlock rolls off and onto the side, collapsing with one arm above his head.

With a bit of a sad smile, Mycroft puts on a silk robe and pads silently to the door. The other two men look at him, John with wide eyes. How had he forgotten that Mycroft was there?

“Pray excuse me, gentlemen,” Mycroft says, tightening the robe and opening the bedroom door.

“Leaving?”

“It would seem prudent.”

“Does this mean you’re giving up your claim to me?” John asks, smirking just a bit. “I mean, you did pay for my company.”

“Yes, but then, I think you’ve belonged to my brother for a good deal longer. Gentlemen.” And with that, Mycroft steps out and closes the door.

In the loud silence that follows, long, talented fingers entwine themselves with John’s. “Well, I suppose this means you get me to yourself,” John says somewhat hesitantly. 

“If you’ll have me,” Sherlock replies softly, pointedly staring at the ceiling.

John pushes himself up so that he’s resting on his side. Looking down at Sherlock’s face, he runs a hand over the pointed chin. “Like the man said, this is where I belong.” He smiles and leans down for a kiss.


End file.
